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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24024706">Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaplaintappman/pseuds/chaplaintappman'>chaplaintappman</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Chemical Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Criminal Frank Iero, M/M, Teen Frank Iero, Teen Gerard Way, frank is older tho, slight petekey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:06:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,945</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24024706</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaplaintappman/pseuds/chaplaintappman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <strong>A/N: i'm updating this incredibly sporadically, so consider it basically on hiatus</strong>
</p><p>WANTED: FRANK IERO, AGE 19.</p><p>CRIME: BREAKING AND ENTERING, ARSON, ROBBERY, FIRST DEGREE MURDER.</p><p>HIGHLY DANGEROUS - DO NOT APPROACH.</p><p>REWARD: $10,000</p><p>DETAILS AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST.</p><p>CALL LOCAL POLICE IF SPOTTED IMMEDIATELY.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Iero/Gerard Way</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is my first fic i've posted here, i've only ever written on wattpad before. lemme know if you spot anything i missed, like grammar!! trying to keep this short, so i'll have more in the end notes :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I took another puff on my cigarette, letting the smoke waft out of my mouth, folding over itself as it drifted off my tongue. It floated up toward the ceiling and pooled there, before disappearing altogether; soon, though, I took another puff and slithering up against the ceiling was another pool of grey, swirling smoke. I glanced around at my motel room, and it was obvious why there was close to no one here, besides me and the workers. Besides the fact that this town was no longer popular enough to warrant a motel--and was most likely only kept in business by teens on prom night--the room was in near shambles. The one window was yellowed to the point you could have made it into stained glass, the curtains were threadbare and almost didn't do their job, the carpet felt like walking on crumbs, and the bed had a very visible valley from customers laying in the same spot. I kept the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the knob at all times, so no annoying maids would come by asking to change the towels I didn't use or wash the sheets I barely slept in, and God forbid come in and rummage through my things. I enjoyed the privacy of the shithole, to be honest. I was on my own often, but that didn't make it any less appealing.</p><p>I stubbed the end of the cigarette on the nightstand, watching the burn mark form on the wood and the ashes fall to the carpet. I had forgotten to buy an ashtray when I was out earlier, and unlike most motels I'd stayed at, this one didn't provide one in the room. I grabbed my shoulder bag off the floor and opened the door, stepping out and starting down the street. It was quiet; no one was out this late in the evening on a Tuesday in the middle of October. Figures. Nothing interesting happens here, just like all the other shithole towns I pass through. I'm only giving the media a little <em> buzz </em> for once. They should thank me, honestly; nothing like reporting on the high school football team as the star story to break your spirit. Not like it mattered, the town's a dump anyway. That's kind of my specialty, shitty little towns. That's why they can never catch me: there's too many of those here. Who knows where I'd show up next?</p><p>Well, it might be because they didn't actually know who I was, but I like thinking it's my smarts that throw them off, not their own incompetence.</p><p>I passed a few dark alleys on my way, making a mental note of each of them with a chuckle. They always think murders happen in alleys. Reason two why they can't catch me: if you base your facts on television dramas, you're already at least twelve steps behind. Sure, it's nice to see how others before me messed up, but do you actually think shows like NCIS are going to give you the cold hard facts? That's laughable.</p><p>I have a pattern though, mind you, I'm not <em> that </em> unpredictable. Everyone has one. The cops just can't seem to pick up on it, the idiots. Sometimes I get jobs and that's how I stay, you know, alive--but that's very rare. I try to stay away from anything social. I prefer to make my money out of pawnshops, instead of flipping burgers. I'll admit, I have my fears, and being recognized is definitely one of them. Being the best killer under twenty-five is not all sunshine and rainbows, unfortunately (even if it's a self-appointed title). But even the police say I'm the best. Well, they infer it, you can tell. The way they get flustered when the press asks them about me is hysterical. I'm the best case they've ever had--no ego intended, of course. The press eats me up like candy... I almost love them.</p><p>Part of the reason they can't decipher my pattern is because I refuse to go after people I've been seen with, much less ones I personally know. All those idiots who commit crimes of passion are begging to get caught. When I go looking for someone, the thing at the forefront of my mind is to have no contact with them. Plus, they have to have money, or something valuable I could sell pretty easily (how else am I supposed to afford these shitty motels?). They had to live alone, and especially with no dogs. Did I mention living in a shitty little town? And if they didn't fit that criteria then they weren't worth my time.</p><p>Or they had a security system I had yet to figure out how to get around. It was pointless for me to put myself in danger, especially for a stupid robbery, when all I have to do is walk down the street to the nearest Dollar General and ask for an application. I rob because it's easy. I kill as protection; think of it like insurance. That's it.</p><p>The wind tossed my hair around, and I pulled my shoulders closer in. I only had a thin jacket; you can't be hunkered down by clothes on a mission like this. I'm always looking for efficiency, trying to find ways to be faster. I kept my eyes glued to the grass peeking up out of the cracks of the sidewalk as I walked. It was now dusk, and my shadow stretched out almost forever in front of me. I was a little worried at first that as the sidewalk began to disappear, later that night cars would have trouble seeing me, with my dark clothes which I needed to wear (white was too hard to clean). Thankfully, though, there were very few cars out, and as it grew later, the amount of cars dwindled.</p><p>I looked up at a long, winding driveway heading up a hill dotted with huge oak trees. I started the trek up, and after about ten more minutes of walking, I finally found the house I was looking for. It was a nice, bright green one, far out of town with no neighbors, far as the eye could see. I had spotted this girl in the grocery store last week, with an expensive purse and very nice earrings; she looked like she was on her way to a date. The oak door sported a flag for the local sports team, and I could see the TV on through the large front window. By now it was dark, and the window light combined with the street lamp a few paces down cast an eerie color over the small country road. I walked around to the back, opening the circuit box and setting my shoulder bag down. I pulled out a pair of wire cutters and went to work shutting off the security system, careful not to trigger anything else. I listened for a bit before I crept to the back door, a simple aluminum storm door with a large screen. I cut the screen away with a small boxcutter, making sure to be quiet, and then picked the lock of the inner door. I picked up my bag and threw it over my shoulder, stepping into the dim house. I was standing in a small kitchen, with a view of the living room. I saw a landline phone on the counter, and whipped my hand out to grab it and shove it in my bag.</p><p>There was the lady, looking about her mid-twenties. The lights were off, and the TV was playing some movie I didn't recognize. I snuck around to the front door, going behind the couch on all four--few times have I been so thankful for carpet, as she was sitting on the couch right above me, snacking on some popcorn. Once I reached the door, I fished my hand around in my bag, trying to stay quiet. I found the bike lock and wrapped it around the handle, ensuring one couldn't simply yank it open. When I was finished, I heard a scream from the kitchen; she must have seen how I broke in. I stooped down and sped over to the kitchen, approaching with her back to me as she searched for the landline phone. I wrapped a hand around her mouth and grabbed her wrists with one swift movement. She tried to wriggle out of my grasp, but I was stronger. I pulled one of her feet out from beneath her with my own, and she fell forward into my hand. She was now balanced between my hand on her mouth, my hand holding her wrists (which I had pulled toward me, resting against her hip), and her leg twisted up with mine. The only limb she had to herself was the one leg holding her up.</p><p>"We can do this the easy way," I said, not bothering to attempt to be intimidating, "or the hard way."</p><p>I moved my hand to the back of her head and forced it down into the counter, pulling her arms to the side. I used the momentum from the movement to hike my bag onto the counter as well, and shifted my arm to hold her head down as I grabbed zip ties from my bag. I set them between my teeth, and used my free hand and mouth to wrap two around her wrists. My hand moved back to her head, holding her throat, and led her towards the upstairs, keeping her head low. I kicked open a door and sat her down in the closest chair, pressing my shoulder into hers to hold her down as I attached her to the chair with more zip ties, still between my teeth. As I started to turn around, I noticed her cell phone on the desk, and laughed to myself. "Ah, ah, ah," I cooed, plucking it off the desk. "I guess we'll have to put this on silent." I turned and chucked it out the door, down the stairs. I could hear her taking in fast, wispy breaths behind me as I closed the door.</p><p>"Shh," I hushed. "You fit such a tight selection, you should feel honored." I stooped down to start rummaging in my bag.</p><p>"I don't have much," she squealed. "But you can have the money. Take it and go, please. I won't fight, I promise-"</p><p>"And where would I find that? I didn't see any safes, or wallets..." At this point I was rambling. I only took small things, stuff I could carry on my person, and I could explain away in case I was questioned on them. There's nothing more suspicious than walking into town in the middle of the night with a flat-screen TV.</p><p>She stammered in response to my question, and I smirked to myself. "Besides, I have to have some fun! I like an interesting job, not a boring one... don't you?" She didn't say anything, instead she squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to cry. I could tell. I almost felt bad.</p><p>Almost. </p><p> "Oh, my dear," I cooed, kneeling at her feet. "Calm down, you'll be fine."</p><p>"You mean that?"</p><p>A smile formed on my lips, excited by her hope of survival. I let a small laugh escape, reaching in my bag and pulling out a roll of duct tape. "No."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>While Mrs. Parsons droned on about the functions of a cell, Ray and I were passing notes. Yes, we both knew this class was necessary for graduation, but frankly, we didn't care all that much. Biology wasn't his thing, and I was all up for having a secret argument over where we were going to eat after school. Now that Ray had a car, we were allowed to stay out later after school. Not that that kept me from sneaking out, but at least I could walk out the front door now. I used to have to jump from the window and hope I didn't twist something. He wasn't a very picky eater, but of course he hated the places I liked. I proposed we go to the local pizza joint down the street again, but Ray was complaining that we had already eaten there<em> "three times this week!" </em></p><p>He passed the paper back to me under the desks. <em> How about Subway? </em> I wrote down, underneath his claim that pizza gave him stomachaches. <em> I know you love their Italian subs, and I personally would die for a nice chicken sub right about now. </em> I folded up the paper and slid it to Ray again, glancing up at the teacher to make sure she didn't see me. I didn't mind much getting caught, but Ray was a goody-two-shoes, so I cared on his behalf.</p><p>I glanced at the board, something about mitochondria. I scribbled the next part of the notes down, doodling a little mitochondria in the margins. I gave it a little cartoon face with the tongue sticking out, and snickered to myself. <em> Mitochondria sounds like a disease, </em> I thought, and drew a thermometer in its mouth.</p><p>"Gerard."</p><p>I looked up from my note, strands of hair flying into my face. "Yes, Miss?"</p><p>She cocked her head to the side and gave me a look of exasperation. "Please pay attention. This isn't art class."</p><p>I looked down at my doodle. "I am paying attention," I retorted, looking back up. "I mean, it <em> is </em> a drawing of a little mitochondria."</p><p>She sighed. "Then explain mitochondrial DNA to me, and how it differs from nuclear DNA and RNA."</p><p>I sat there, dumbfounded, for a minute. "Noted," I whispered, and slid my notes to the center of my desk from the corner, where I had stuck them to make space to write to Ray. I was not in the business of failing one of the few required classes left.</p><p>A little later the bell rang, catching me by surprise. Funny how time flies when you're having fun. I stuck my notes back in my folder, grabbed my books, and stood up to walk out the door with Ray, who was always waiting for me. He never lost track of time, and was probably already packed up before the bell rang.</p><p>As a footnote, I never learned the differences between mitochondrial DNA, nuclear DNA, and RNA.</p><p>I shoved my things in my locker, not caring where they went. I tossed my jacket over my shoulder and grabbed my shoulder bag, which already had my homework in it from study hall. I may not pay attention, but that doesn't mean I don't at least try to pass. I'm a senior now, and I'm striving for graduation. I shoved past a few people, chuckling as other seniors grumbled at me and underclassmen jumped away. I had a bit of a reputation for being a "trouble student" and because of that, the younger kids tended to stay away from me. I was all the happier for it.</p><p>We walked around to the student lot and climbed in his car, an old Pontiac Firebird his dad had. Mr. Toro decided he was too old to be driving around an old t-top car, so he let Ray have it as a bit of a senior year gift. I will say, it is quite fun to drive around with the top out. I've begged him to let me paint it, since it was dirty white, but he always said no. I kept telling him there was no way he could expect to get a girlfriend with this boring car, but he refused to let me come close with even a pencil. Mostly, though, I just wanted to try painting a car--that would be so cool, right?</p><p>I climbed in the passenger side and tossed my bag into the backseat, probably on top of some of my other junk (I had a habit of leaving my things in Ray's car, which he always got mad at me for). "So?" I asked, watching him climb in and stick the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. "How's Subway?"</p><p>He chuckled. "Thank you for not insisting on pizza... again." I buckled myself in as he shifted into reverse and pulled out, heading towards the main street. Subway wasn't far away, only a few blocks down from the school. It was a pretty popular place during lunchtime, actually.</p><p>My Subway order hadn't changed since at least middle school: rotisserie-style chicken with peppers, olives, and ranch. Ray's order, on the other hand, changed almost every time we came. Today it was a plain veggie sub, packed so full that half of the sandwich had fallen into the bowl.</p><p>"You're such a messy eater," I teased, picking an olive up out of his bowl and plopping it on my tongue.</p><p>"I wouldn't bad mouth the driver," he joked. "I could drive you into a lampost."</p><p>"You love your car too much," I responded, taking a bite out of my sandwich. "It's your little <em> baby</em>, huh?" He punched me lightly in the arm, and we continued to eat.</p><p>We stayed at Subway for about twenty more minutes, finishing our sandwiches and drinks. Ray drove me right home, knowing I had homework to do, despite my protests. I really wanted to hang out at his house tonight (maybe have his mother cook me some fantastic food for dinner), but he refused.</p><p>Once I was home, I tossed my bag on a chair and hopped over the back of the couch onto the cushions. I left the front door unlocked for when Mikey came home later, as I always did. We lived in such a safe town, nothing ever motivated me to change. We all knew each other here--nothing happened in tiny midwest towns.</p><p>I grabbed the remote and propped my feet up on the coffee table, turning on the TV. I switched surfed between channels, each one as boring as the last. I didn't even bother with the news. Nothing was <em>ever </em>interesting there. I enjoyed the cartoon reruns, but those didn't play on Tuesday afternoons, sadly. I finally settled on an old Western playing on one of the movie channels. The terrible effects made for better comedy than any of the comedic lines.</p><p>After watching for a few minutes, I hopped up off the couch and walked to the kitchen, looking for a snack. Right when I was about to grab the bag of chips from the cupboard, I felt Mikey pull me back and grab at the bag in my hand. I laughed and held it above his head, standing on my tiptoes and smirking at his annoyed face.</p><p>"Didn't hear you come in," I laughed, holding the bag behind my back. Seeing how he's got a few inches on me, holding anything above my head only works to phase him for a few minutes.</p><p>"Share, Gerard!" he whined, trying to grab the chips from me. "I'm hungry! I haven't eaten yet!"</p><p>"No way!" I said, running back into the living room and hopping onto the couch. "Eat some<em> real </em> food if you're that hungry." He glared at me from the doorway, crossing his arms and leaning against the entryway. I opened the bag and munched on the chips, making sure to express exactly how delicious they were so he could hear. I licked my fingers for dramatic effect, popping my lips as each finger left my mouth. Finally he huffed and plopped down next to me, snatching up the remote and turning on the news channel. They were droning on about this weekend’s weather--apparently, it was going to be pretty rainy. I rolled my eyes and tossed the bag onto his lap, crossing my ankles on the table and laying back against the couch.</p><p>He nodded at my feet. "Mom's gonna be mad, you know," he said. "She keeps telling you not to put your feet on tables."</p><p>"Why should I care?" I asked with a mouth full of chips. "I don't care if she yells at me."</p><p>He coughed awkwardly, wringing his hands like he did when he was nervous. "Gerard..."</p><p>I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You and her are close. Sorry."</p><p>"Please don't, you know I hate it when you talk bad about her." He continued to play with his fingers, eyes glued to the TV. "Besides, she's trying to mend your relationship."</p><p>I grumbled to myself, looking out the window beside the TV. "Her and I don't exactly see eye to eye, Mikes."</p><p>We were silent. I didn't mind, silence is one of my favorite things. It gave you time to think and rethink, daydream, and all sorts of things. It was fun, being able to do that. Most people didn't see it like that. People always feel the need to fill empty air, but I've always appreciated empty air more. I'd rather have silence than meaningful small talk, anyway.</p><p>The newscaster changed, moving from the weather to current events. A <em> breaking news </em>banner slunk across the bottom of the screen, underneath an older man settled at a wide desk. "We have new information on the body found last night," he said, folding his hands together.</p><p>"Body?" I leaned forward, feet dropping from the table. "Someone died?"</p><p>"They said it's a murder," Mikey said, turning up the volume. "Found in her home office, off of route four."</p><p>"Police have determined it was a homicide," the newscaster continued, "and believe it's connected to a string of murders across the midwest."</p><p>"A<em> string?" </em> I breathed, entranced by the TV. They showed a picture of the woman killed, who looked in her early twenties.</p><p>"Why would a serial killer come <em> here?" </em> Mikey asked, more to himself than me. "It's so... small, here. And boring."</p><p>"Police are warning citizens to stay careful," the man deadpanned. "If you notice something strange, do not hesitate to call the tip line on your screen." A phone number appeared on the screen, emblazoned by a white box behind it.</p><p>After a moment I stood up, stretching, a quiet yawn escaping my mouth. "I'm going to my room," I announced, getting a mumble of a reply from Mikey. I strode down the stairs to where I lived in the basement, and locked my door behind me. I jumped down onto the pillows, grabbed my phone from my pocket, and turned my lights off as I crawled under the blankets of my bed. I opened my messages and sent a text to Ray, quite aware I wasn't going to get an answer anytime soon. That's how he was.</p><p>I rolled over, trying to fall asleep, but the thought of a serial killer kept my eyes open. I glanced over to the alarm clock on my bed, and saw it was close to eight. It was surprising that I was tired this early, but seeing how I'd been staying up late the past few days, it wasn't <em>that </em>surprising. I rolled over again and closed my eyes, the darkness of my room matching the darkness behind my eyelids. I heard the front door open as I began to curl into my blankets, and a conversation between Mikey and my mom start upstairs.</p><p>My bedroom door opened but my eyes stayed closed. "Hey, Gerard..." Mikey's voice began, but faltered when he thought I was asleep. "Oh, well... I'll be back soon." He closed my door again and I heard the front door creak open and closed, but thought nothing of it. The idea of a serial killer had already left my mind, and I drifted off to sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i'll try to update this often, but the original is ... pretty bad ... so it takes me a few rewrites before it's good enough to post. technically the whole story is finished, just needs fixing up :) also, i really hope someone got that reference to the pontiac firebird! i did a bunch of research for that, all the way to find out it's a 1979 model (to my eyes anyway, haha!)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is a fic i wrote back in 2016 but i've done a lot of revisions to fix it up :) this was one of my favorite fics i've written, so i'm very excited to see how you like it! i don't have anyone to beta read so this has only been edited by grammarly and my eyes + ears.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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